


if you have ghosts you have everything

by felinedetached, Pandasaurus_rex0



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Senju Tobirama-centric, slowburn, the comfort is just gonna.... take a while, we're mean to Tobirama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-06-18 15:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15489138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinedetached/pseuds/felinedetached, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandasaurus_rex0/pseuds/Pandasaurus_rex0
Summary: Tobirama knows this is madness. He knows it's not okay, morally,ethically;not in any way. But the bright lights of his brothers’ chakras haunt him, both in dreaming and waking moments—those bright lights, flickering and dying, and with them his brothers.So he works, calculates, puts his big damn brain to work to invent the one thing that could possibly fix this.(And all he can hear, all that echoes in his ears, is his own voice—cold and dark and vicious and terrified—screaming.Give me back my brothers give me back my brothers give themback—)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [If You Have Ghosts by Ghost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kNetd_lISI)

Itama tears up his papers, this time, instead of sending them flying or spilling ink on them. Tobirama knows it’s Itama, because he knows his brother’s signature like the back of his hand. Kawarama is standing on his left, Itama on his right.

 

Kawarama looks on. Itama shakes.

 

It stings more than it should.

 

He memorizes his notes. Of course he does. But he can’t memorize every little thing he writes down, can’t memorize exact positions and brushstrokes and—

 

“Itama,” Tobirama breathes, quiet and controlled.

 

“I _had_ to,” Itama explains urgently. “You can’t—you can’t bring us back, Tobi. We—”

 

“—keep _telling_ you this and you never _listen,_ ” Kawarama finishes. “Let us _be._ The only thing we need is to see you happy. You’re—you’re _killing_ yourself over this, Tobirama. We don’t want you to spend your whole night in here!”

 

“The only way I’ll be happy is if I do this!” Tobirama says, bringing his hands down onto the table.

 

He knocks over a bottle of ink.

 

_Breathe._

 

They quieten, watch him as he breathes in, breathes out, rights the bottle of ink. It’s—it would be disconcerting, almost, if he wasn’t used to it by now. Used to dead brothers with accusing eyes, asking him not to bring them back.

 

But he is used to it, used to how his last living brother watches with suspicion in his eyes, used to how his clan avoids him, used to how his family never touches him. So he breathes, calms, kneels down to pick shredded paper off the floor and doesn’t dwell on how Itama’s signature lights up with intermingled concern and regret.

 

“You need to _stop,_ ” Tobirama pleads.

 

Itama says nothing. Kawarama sighs and puts his ghostly hand on Tobirama’s shoulder. It’s cold, but Tobirama doesn’t shiver.

 

“We _can’t,_ ” Kawarama says. “We’re trying to help you—”

 

“I’m trying to help _you_! You don’t—you don’t understand,” Tobirama says. “I can bring you back—I can give you the life you deserved to live. I can give you that life, and I can bring back other people who died too early! This jutsu will be _revolutionary._ ”

 

“It’ll be wrong,” Itama murmurs. “You need to let life run its course. You can’t bring someone back after they’re dead.”

 

“Why?” Tobirama demands. “ _Why_? If I can do this, why shouldn’t I?”

 

He knows that he’ll never win this argument. On the other hand . . . he’ll never _lose_ the argument either. It’s something that he clashes with his brothers over almost every single day—every time Kawarama spills ink on his notes, every time Itama makes his hands shake so hard that he can’t write—and it’ll never go anywhere.

 

At least, it won’t until he completes the jutsu.

 

Because they’ll be _back_ then, and he won’t _have_ to prove them wrong, won’t _have_ to win any arguments.

 

They might hate him—there’s always a chance that that will come to pass—but, he thinks, it will be worth it, in the end. Worth it, because his brothers will be alive again, and maybe Hashirama will be able to look at him again.

 

Itama bites his lip. “Tobi—” he cuts himself off.

 

“You know we aren't going to stop. You don't need to do this. It's _wrong_ , Tobi. We—Itama and I are gone, and we can't come back. You just need to accept that,” Kawarama says. He's trying to sound strict, like Butsuma, although his voice comes out weak.

 

“Itama was _six_ ,” Tobirama responds, and the boys each fall silent.

 

Itama sets down the torn up pieces of paper.

 

“I need to do this,” Tobirama insists, his voice quiet. “I won't be happy if I can't bring the two of you back. I can't be.”

 

He feels a hand on each shoulder. The smaller hand is shaking.

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

 _He_ **_needs_ ** _to do this._

 

* * *

 

It’s when Mito arrives—Uzumaki Mito, from a clan renowned for their _seals_ —that Tobirama realises how to do this. He’s an Uzumaki himself, just as Hashirama is, just as Itama and Kawarama _were,_ with a Senju father and an Uzumaki mother.

 

Hashirama got their mother’s disposition; her cheerful forgiveness and blinding-bright smile. Tobirama models himself after their father’s; cold, quiet, the perfect soldier.

 

But Hashirama quickly outstripped everyone in their clan, everyone in the Uzumaki, with a bloodline bright and green and wooden, while Tobirama took only Butsuma’s desperation to be stronger and his mother’s family’s talent with seals.

 

(Although he _suspects,_ silently, because he got his colouring from neither.)

 

Irregardless, he should have thought of it sooner. He curses himself, because this isn’t just a _jutsu,_ it needs a seal too.

 

He can do this. He _can._

 

He should have thought of it sooner.

 

* * *

 

He knows he’s getting close, because Itama and Kawarama start getting desperate. More often than not, he finds his notes torn to pieces, scattered across the floor.

 

(Absently, he wonders if it’s possible to invent a jutsu to mend paper. It likely is, but Tobirama doesn’t want to waste time with that when he’s so _close_ -)

 

“Tobirama,” Itama says, a warning, as he stoops to scoop up his fallen and torn notes. Tobirama ignores him, hates himself as he does it, but knows that if he gets this done, they’ll be _alive again,_ and knows that if he listens, they will ask him to stop.

 

He won’t stop.

 

“Please.” It’s Kawarama this time, plaintive. Almost begging. Tobirama shakes his head to clear it, and resolves to stay here for as long as it takes to finish this.

 

“Don’t do this,” Itama says, but it’s the same arguments and each time they lose potency.

 

“We just want you to be happy!” Kawarama says, taking turns in poking at him. This is what snaps the perfect control he has over his emotions, and he spins, stands, looks straight into Kawarama’s eyes.

 

“I can’t be happy when you’re _dead,”_ he snaps, and perhaps that was cruel, but he never has been as nice as Hashirama. They quieten, though, watch him with sad eyes, and Tobirama flinches, just slightly. Itama looks at the ground as he notices it, and Tobirama almost feels guilty for making him feel bad, but…

 

They’re dead.

 

They’re _dead,_ and he’s alone in a family who cares more for his older brother, cares more for the heir, than they do him.

 

He’s given them everything and he has nothing to show for it.

 

(Why can’t they let him have this?)

 

* * *

 

His eyes ache. Tobirama is tired, he knows he is, knows that at this point he’s more likely to make a mistake than not. But he thinks of his brothers—all three of them—thinks of what he’d do to keep them safe, and he forces his eyes to stay open just that much longer.

 

He has to get this finished. Not only that—he has to finish it _perfectly,_ because if he fucks up, he could die. Or kill someone.

 

Honestly, Tobirama’s not entirely sure which is worse.

 

His eyes ache and his hands are shaking, and he’ll have to sleep before he burns these markings onto his face with ink and chakra, or he’ll fuck it up.

 

He will.

 

And he can’t afford that.

 

(There’s an offhand thought—a what if: what if he had enough energy to do this, what if he could bolster his chakra and his energy enough to continue doing high-risk tasks for long periods of time without risking exhaustion—but he tucks it away for later. For now—for now, there’s a seal to focus on.)

 

He thinks of Mito, thinks of how she watches him sometimes, watches the shadows under his eyes and the shaking in his hands and knows she’s the most likely to figure it out, even with how small these seals will be.

 

But he takes a breath—in, out—steadies his hand the same way he used to when he trained himself to exhaustion for this clan that doesn’t care and for these brothers who do, and he touches the brush to his chin.

 

It’s cold, at first, just ink and a touch of blood, no Chakra to power them. But he paints miniscule symbols onto his face with the finest brush he could find, waits for them to dry, then grits his teeth and flares his chakra.

 

It’s not cold anymore—no, this time it _burns,_ fierce and painful, shooting fire across his cheekbones, down his chin. Distantly, _distantly,_ he hears Itama yelling, feels Kawarama’s palm, cool and soothing across his cheek.

 

“We told you not to do this!” he hears one of them shout, but he’s not sure which over the roaring of his own blood in his ears.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, the pain fades—just slightly, the aching fire slipping away like water rolling off a tarp—and Tobirama sits up gingerly. Everything hurts, still—a dull ache, harsh down the new lines on his face and barely noticeable unless he moves, but still present nonetheless.

 

“Tobirama,” Itama says, and it’s scolding this time. “What have you done to yourself?” His face is cradled in cold palms, thumbs sweeping across the new marks on his cheeks.

 

“We didn’t want you to do this for us,” Kawarama says, voice sad. “We didn’t want you to do _anything_ for us, but least of all this!”

 

( _We didn’t want you to mutilate yourself_ hangs in the air, heavy and accusing.)

 

Tobirama ignores them, ignores the pain as he heaves himself to his feet and shuffles back over to the mirror. Three stripes lay across his face, vivid and raw, the symbols so small it almost looks like solid colour.

 

Three stripes, three lost brothers, and he _knows_ the excuse he’s going to use for this.

 

One for each.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! This is a project brought to you by the [Genjutsu Support Group](https://discord.gg/cEE8Rj8), full of those with love for Tobirama, and also the updates for this fic!
> 
> You can find us over on tumblr:  
> \- [felinedetached](https://felinedetached.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [Pandasaurus_rex0](http://pandasaurus-rex0.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading, we hope you enjoy this!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _War child, born of blood and bone and ash, remember that you are not alone. Remember that it was war who took your mind and your body and twisted it, and remember that you can learn to be something more._

“Tobirama!” Hashirama’s voice is as cheerful as always, ringing through the hallway of their father’s house—(not his, not now, not with seals written across his face and an unfinished jutsu to save those who died too young)—as he practically runs down the hall. “I wanted to ask you—” he pauses, draws himself to a stop, tilts his head like a particularly curious puppy, says “Wait, what are those?” and Tobirama realises with a start that he’s talking about the seals.

 

He hesitates to reply. Some part of him, a part he’d thought deeply buried, wants to tell Hashirama the truth. Wants to reveal what he’s been trying to do, wants to get _help—_ but another, more rational part, reminds him that Hashirama has always been intrinsically linked to nature, linked in a way Tobirama will never be able to understand. And this—well, what he’s trying to do is _unnatural._ Even Itama and Kawarama hate it, and they aren’t _like_ Hashirama; they don’t have the same connection to trees and earth and life that he does. And they _still hate it._

 

He can’t tell Hashirama. Not this.

 

(He’s glad they’re not here right now. Glad he can think and be and _breathe_ without them telling him how wrong what he’s doing is.)

 

So he lies. Or, well . . . half-truths aren’t quite lying, are they? “They’re for Itama and Kawarama,” he says, and it’s close enough to the truth that he almost doesn’t feel bad about it.

 

(Almost.)

 

“Oh,” Hashirama says, posture slumping a bit. He seems to find whatever he needs to keep himself going, though, because he brightens after a moment and says, “Well, I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to go swimming today. It’s really _really_ hot out and besides, Tōka’s bothering me about not spending enough time with you. And I thought, you know what? She’s _right_! Come on, Tobi, just for a few hours!”

 

Gods, but the man can talk. Tobirama’s already tired and it hasn’t even been five minutes.

 

On the one hand, swimming is fun, and one of the few things Tobirama enjoys these days, so it’d be good to do that. On the other hand . . . the closer he gets to Hashirama, the more it’ll _hurt_ when everything comes crashing down.

 

Apparently, Tobirama loves suffering, because he caves after just a few seconds. “Okay, Hashirama,” he says. “I’ll go swimming with you.”

 

Hashirama frowns at him. “Lighten up a little! You love swimming! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you smile!”

 

Tobirama sighs and offers a tense smile.

 

Hashirama makes another face. “Oh, gods, that’s _awful,_ I didn’t mean grin like you’re trying to give children _nightmares._ I just want to see you smile for real!”

 

“Maybe I’ll smile for real when we actually start swimming instead of standing here talking in the hallway,” Tobirama says flatly.

 

“Okay, okay,” Hashirama says, goofy grin fixed firmly on his face.

 

* * *

 

“I swear to every god in heaven and hell I will unleash a Great Wave at you if you don’t stop splashing me,” Tobirama threatens.

 

Hashirama laughs—again, because this is about the _tenth_ time he’s splashed water _directly into Tobirama’s eyes_ —and . . . splashes him. Again.

 

“Do it!” Tōka cheers from the sidelines, because for some unfathomable reason, she hates swimming. “Great Wave! Great Wave!”

 

Tobirama sighs heavily. “I didn’t want to do this, brother,” he says solemnly, “but you give me no other choice.”

 

Hashirama’s eyes widen in realization and then he _screeches,_ desperately trying to swim away from Tobirama. Against the current, might he add. Tobirama brings his hands up into the seals for the Great Wave, but seeing as he doesn’t _actually_ want to kill Hashirama, he only puts about five percent of the amount of chakra that he’d normally use for the jutsu. Even so, Hashirama is blasted with an almighty wall of water. When he surfaces, spluttering, he’s looking like a kicked puppy, soaked to the bone and pouting pathetically.

 

Tobirama registers Tōka cheering in the background—something about Hashirama and his ugly mug.

 

He can’t help it. He really can’t.

 

Tobirama doubles over with laughter, and it’s the best he’s felt in a while. For a few seconds, everything is good again, and he’s just— _not worried_ about anything.

 

His hysterical laughter dies down slowly and steadily, until he manages to straighten up again. The first thing he sees when he’s coherent enough _to_ see is Hashirama grinning so widely that it looks as if his face might fall off.

 

“ _There’s_ the fun-loving brother we all know and love!” Hashirama exclaims, coming over to (unsuccessfully) ruffle Tobirama’s wet hair.

 

“I’m not _fun-loving,_ ” Tobirama says, although he can’t quite wipe the smile off of his expression.  “I just happen to have a refined sense of humor. Like seeing you offended. That’s funny. Your bad jokes? Those aren’t funny.”  

 

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Hashirama says, leaning back and falling into the water dramatically. “Just when I thought I’d made a breakthrough, you have to turn on me like this!”

 

Tobirama huffs. “Yeah, well, _someone_ has to kick you off of that high horse once in a while.”

 

“ _High horse?”_ Hashirama asks incredulously. “I don’t even _like_ horses—”

 

Tobirama cuts him off by dunking him under the water. Hashirama gurgles a bit, and it’s funny for about five seconds before Tobirama decides that keeping him under isn’t really worth the effort. “Yeah, yeah, well. We’re out here to _swim,_ not to argue. So let’s get back to that.”

 

Hashirama rolls his eyes.

 

Tobirama gets the distinct feeling that he really shouldn’t be getting closer to him, of all things, because of _course_ this is going to blow up in his face later, but right now . . . he can’t really bring himself to care.

 

* * *

 

“Looks like you had fun, Tobi,” Itama says when Tobirama gets back from swimming.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Tobirama says. “If you remove the part where I used the fucking Great Wave on Hashirama.”

 

“You _what?_ ” Kawarama asks, horrified. “Is—is Hashirama okay?”

 

Tobirama bites back a grin and ruffles Kawarama’s hair—or, well, he tries to, but the fact that Kawarama is an actual _ghost_ prevents him from doing so. “He’s fine. I didn’t put that much effort into it. Although I can’t really say the same for his hair . . . it’ll be _hours_ before it’s fully dry.”

 

Itama gives him a dopey smile that may or may not turn Tobirama’s heart to mush. He _does_ love his brothers, no matter what it might seem like during their arguments.

 

That’s why he’s going to bring them back.

 

“Now, I need to make sure I can actually store these notes in my seals,” Tobirama says authoritatively. “Don’t try to mess this up. I might get hurt.”

 

He feels _awful_ for doing this—feels like he’s manipulating them, like he’s breaking their trust in him—but it’s the only thing he _can_ do in order to take the next steps in bringing his brothers back.

 

“Tobi . . . ”

 

Tobirama ignores him in favor of getting a quill and a stack of paper out of his drawers and starting to scribble down the things that had been on his last batch of notes. Had the seal for life been on the . . . no, it was definitely the north-northwest section. And did it curve into the symbol for—yes, Tobirama thinks it did. He scribbles this small portion of his seal onto a whole sheet of paper and has the sudden realization that this jutsu might require a seal four feet in diameter.

 

He might be able to set up a sealing ring.

 

 _Sealing ring 4ft wood paper chakra ink,_ he writes on his ‘Misc.’ papers, trusting his after-work-brain to remember what the hell he was talking about. He _already_ feels himself slipping into his work daze.

 

_Snap._

 

Tobirama stares at his quill, feeling very much like he’s been personally betrayed by the thing. He _hates_ quills because they snap so easily, and because he has to dip them in a fucking ink bottle every ten seconds or so.

 

While he’s rummaging around in the drawers across the room, he sees a flicker of white out of the corner of his eye, and he turns around whip-quick to see Itama edging toward the notes.

 

He doesn’t think.

 

The notes are his, and they’re being threatened.

 

He _doesn’t_ **_think_** _._

 

Two kunai fly straight through Itama’s chest and embed themselves deeply into the wall behind him. Itama looks like he’s going to cry, or vomit, or both.

 

“Tobi,” he says, barely above a whisper and voice shaking, hand touching his chest as if he were actually bleeding. “That _hurt._ ”

 

Tobirama shakes his head, eyes wide. He hadn’t _meant_ to. “Itama, it—”

 

“It was an accident, right?” Kawarama says, and he doesn’t sound like Tobirama’s little brother. He sounds _cold._ “It was an accident that you threw a deadly weapon with the intent to kill at your little brother. At _my_ little brother.”

 

“That’s _exactly_ it,” Tobirama breathes. He takes a step closer to the two of them and Itama takes one back.

 

Itama is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth tilted down in a frown—and that hurts _worse_ than Kawarama’s words, will _always_ hurt more than anything Kawarama could ever say to him.

 

“You—we’re trying to help you, Tobi,” Itama mumbles. “I—we—I _felt_ it and—”

 

“Come on, let’s just go,” Itama says. Itama looks—lost, for lack of a better word, and he follows Kawarama up the stairs and out of Tobirama’s work basement. “We should check on Hashirama.”

 

They’re gone.

 

. . . He’ll deal with this later.

 

For now, he grits his teeth, yanks the two kunai out of the wall, lays them carefully out on his desk, and gets back to his notes.

 

He wonders if he needs to find a way to test the jutsu on other things before he tries it with his brothers.

 

* * *

 

Tōka finds him six hours later at the Senju training grounds, slumped over on himself, staring at a couple of targets he’d demolished.

 

“Tobirama . . . ”

 

“It’s fine,” Tobirama says automatically, collecting himself and standing up. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“Tobi, I’m not _mad_ at you,” Tōka says forcefully. Tobirama stops in his tracks. “I’m _worried_ about you. You’ve been quiet! Really _damn_  quiet. I’m your friend too. You can talk to me, okay?”

 

Tobirama really wishes he could tell her.

 

“I said it’s fine,” Tobirama repeats, deciding to match force with force. “I’m going inside.”

 

“Not until you just _tell_ me what happened—”

 

“—and what happened is _nothing!_ Leave me alone!” Tobirama says, although it’s more of a shout than anything else at this point. Tobirama tries to regain control over himself and fails because Tōka is touching his arm and she’s trying to get him to spill and it’s—

 

It’s not a lie, really, but it’s not the truth either.

 

“I killed them, didn’t I?” Tobirama whispers.

 

“What—”

 

“Itama and Kawarama. They were so _young._ They never got to grow up. I should have protected them more from enemies, I should have—”

 

There are arms around him.

 

When did this happen?

 

Tobirama finds, to his surprise, that this is actually kind of pleasant and that this is the first time in a while that anyone’s hugged him.

 

Faintly, he hears, “Come on, Tobi, you didn’t kill them. It was war, we all did things we regret. Come on, let’s get you inside. That’s it, stand up, use those legs of yours . . . ”

 

He allows her to lead him away from the training ground, away from himself, away from his half-truths and half-lies.

 

He allows himself to curl up on his bed.

 

He allows himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find us all in the [Genjutsu Support Group](https://discord.gg/cEE8Rj8), where this idea spawned and grew until we went "fuck it, we're writing this."
> 
> You can find us over on tumblr:  
> \- [felinedetached](https://felinedetached.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [Pandasaurus_rex0](http://pandasaurus-rex0.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading, we hope you enjoy this!


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing he tries it on is a rat, caught in the food stores. It’s not like the clan will miss it—in fact, if he were Hashirama they’d likely thank him for catching it, for the fact that he’s prevented it from eating any more of their stores.

 

But he’s not Hashirama—Hashirama is in Uzushio, with Mito and Itama and Kawarama, and that _hurts,_ but it’s okay, because it gives him time—and no one notices anyway, so they don’t.

 

When the rat dies, it’s anticlimactic. Tobirama almost feels like he should have ritually sacrificed it, or something, but that could give its soul to a god. Maybe. He’s not sure if he believes in gods.

 

He wonders how the clan would feel about that.

 

Either way, its death feels cheap, somehow. Almost like it’s worthless. But then, it’s a rat. It isn’t like anyone’s going to miss a rat. But that doesn’t matter; what matters is _results,_ whether he can actually do this or not, and that’s what he intends to find out.

 

The first step is deceptively easy: take the body, paint a seal. He wonders, idly, if any body will do, or if he’ll have to dig Itama and Kawarama’s back up. (There’s another concern, hidden within that one: if a body is decomposed when it’s resurrected, will it stay that way?)

 

Painting the seal is calming, in a way. It’s something he’s used to, something that he could probably do in his _sleep_ if he had to.

 

Not that he wants to have to, or whatever . . . gods, he should've _slept_ before doing this. Seals are _hard_. He sighs.

 

It doesn't take long to finish painting. He channels his chakra into the seal.

 

* * *

 

It takes a long time to rid the room of the stench from last week's test. When it’s finally gone, finally out of every crack and corner and scrubbed out of the floor, he tries it again. He’s not sure what went wrong, really. Not sure why it did . . . _that._

 

But he has to _try_ and fix it, has to try _harder,_ because they’re his _brothers._

 

So this time, _this time_ , he tries for something smaller.

 

A mouse, he thinks, is probably his best bet. Much smaller, but not as small as a bug, so still big enough to put the seal on. Small enough that it won't make as much of a mess if it goes wrong again, at the very least.

 

So he catches a mouse, and he kills it, and he paints on the new seal, and he channels his chakra into it.

 

It doesn't work.

 

He tries again, and again, and again—and his brothers are still gone. His brothers followed _Hashirama_ , they _ignored_ him, they’re _gone_ , in Uzushio and they—they—

 

Tobirama finally succeeds in bringing a mouse back to life. So he moves back to a rat, he tries to bring a rat back to life and it _works,_ it’s almost like the real things save for the cracks running all over their skin (and he ignores those) and he—Tobirama cries. He cries. And he tries it on a rabbit. It works.

 

 _It works_.

 

* * *

 

Kawarama and Itama still haven't come back. He can feel them, they didn't go far—just to Hashirama—and Uzushio is only a two day _walk_ —it would've been a day had they run, but Hashirama apparently didn't want to run, and everyone listens to whatever he says because he's the eldest, the clan head, _whatever_ —and then twelve hours on a boat. It isn't far.

 

It hurts to know they fear him, they might just hate him. And why wouldn't they? He threw a kunai through Itama, he _hurt Itama_.

 

Itama—he's just a kid. Tobirama hurt kids during the war, but he isn’t going to hurt them anymore. _Wasn’t_ going to. Tobirama won’t hurt him again. He bites his lip. Hashirama is still in Uzushio, still working on a marriage contract with the Uzumaki, so—so Tobirama has time.

 

He has to go bigger, go _older,_ use partially decomposing bodies, if not just a _skeleton,_ because that’s what they’ll be. That’s what they’ll be when—if—he digs them up. That—that scares him.

 

(He wants to help them, he _does,_ they’re his brothers and they don’t deserve this half-life as a spirit haunting the goddamn _reason_ they died—if only he’d been stronger, faster, _better_ —but digging them up, seeing their bodies decomposed and rotting and little more than skeletons in a wooden box? He—he doesn’t want _this_.)

 

But this time—this time he goes for a cat. It’s been dead for a while, probably—the sickening stench of death and rot hangs around it, clinging and cloying, and its muscles have already gone stiff.

 

He’s ready for anything. Or, at least, he hopes he is.

 

(Nothing could prepare him for a cat coming back half-rotten, flaking apart and constantly in pain.)

 

The cat comes back half-rotten. It mews, whines at him, paws and yowls and _suffers,_ and Tobirama covers his ears and cries.

 

(When he remembers to, he drives a kunai through its skull. The cat yells, circles, and does not die. It will take months for him to stop seeing the cat whenever he closes his eyes. “Release,” he chokes out, remembering the seal, already berating himself for creating something that won’t die naturally. The cat drops like a bag of stones. The kunai in its head squelches uncomfortably.)

 

* * *

 

(He names it _Edo Tensei_ _,_ The Impure World Reincarnation Technique. He names it that, because that is what it is. Impure.)

 

* * *

 

There’s a heartbeat where he considers binding the souls to an already-living being. Overwriting the original to make room for the dead, and then he throws up. He’s gagging, heaving, trying _desperately_ to breathe, and all the while all he can think is what Kawarama and Itama would think of him if he did that. If he _killed someone_ to bring them back, and that sets him off again, gagging on bile and liquid and his own guilt.

 

He’s glad they’re not here to see _those_ notes, glad enough that he burns them as soon as he can function again. Tobirama scatters the ashes in the woods, and pretends they don’t exist.

 

* * *

 

He knows that with every passing day, he’s seeing less sunlight. Seeing less of people—of _any_ animal—and less of Touka. She knocks on his door sometimes, and it’s more a horrendously loud banging that rings through his head and _echoes,_ painful, along with her shouts.

 

“Tobirama!” she says, and her voice catches on the first syllable. “Open the door!”

 

(He’s upsetting her. It’s not _right,_ not something he should be doing, but he can’t face her—not with the knowledge of what he almost did, of what he _had the notes for._ )

 

So he sits in the dark, in the silence, with Touka’s incessant calls ringing in his ears, until he finally shapes up.

 

Until he sits up, stamps it down, because it _won’t_ _work_ , not without a human sacrifice, and. He can’t do that.

 

He just _can’t._

 

They’re his brothers, but he can’t do that, and that probably makes him a horrible brother.

 

(Tobirama doesn’t think he can live with the knowledge that he’s a horrible brother.)

 

* * *

 

He throws himself into training with an intensity that borders on insanity, because it is the only way to keep his mind clear. He trains with his father, trains with Touka, trains by himself. He trains and trains and trains, because it is the only way to stop his mind from wandering back to _Edo Tensei,_ from wandering back to the idea that he could bring his brothers back if only he would offer _someone_ in exchange.

 

It doesn’t work. No matter what he does, what he thinks—or desperately _doesn’t_ think—the idea just creeps back into his mind, like a particularly tenacious den of racoons.

 

But he keeps throwing himself into his training, keeps pretending that all is right in the world, because _maybe,_ just _maybe,_ if he pretends enough it will come true.

 

(It doesn’t work like that. _Nothing_ works like that. Knowing that nothing works like that, however, doesn’t stop him from _wishing_ that things do.)

 

* * *

 

They’re home.

 

Tobirama’s been dreading this and wishing for this in equal measure; both wanting a reminder that Hashirama is _alive,_ that Kawarama and Itama are doing okay, and dreading their return because he _knows_ that they’ll hate him for what he’s dreamed up.

 

All three of them will.

 

But he thinks—he thinks that if he uses a live _animal,_ bulks up its body with the rest of what makes up a human (carbon, sodium, water, ammonia, potassium, calcium—) it might work. It just _might._

 

And he has to try. He _can’t_ use a human, no matter how terrible of a brother it makes him.

 

So an animal—a dead animal is the next best option. It’s not like he took something from the food stores; he went out and he hunted and caught two wolves, thanked the gods and the animals for their sacrifice and dragged them back into his lab.

 

They’re small—too small to be Hatake, not small enough or dog-like enough to be Inuzuka, so he’s not going to cause another war, either.

 

He’s just going to maybe bring his dead brothers back to life, and potentially damn his immortal soul in the process.

 

(Tobirama isn’t sure if he believes in gods, but if he believes in anything, it’s this: what he is doing is enough to get him damned, if that’s possible. And, if it isn’t, well. He’s not going to complain.)

 

It’s all set up. It’s done—his tattoos have been set for months, now, the wolves are here as bases and any extra to form a human body is on standby.

 

He can do this.

 

Senju Tobirama takes a deep breath, and activates the jutsu.

 

* * *

 

Everything is dark, faded. His head is ringing, a burning ache settled into his skull behind his right ear. When he drags a hand up to grab at it, it comes away sticky and wet and red with blood.

 

He heaves himself up, breathes in the stench of blood and decay and feels any air—any _words_ —catch in his throat.

 

(What is in front of him isn’t Itama. It isn’t Kawarama either, and he doesn’t know what it is but it _moves_ and it looks at him and it gasps, broken, with vocal chords he can _see_ and croaks “Tobirama,” desperate and broken and Tobirama empties the contents of his stomach onto the floor.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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